all my life i've been heading for hell
by kathleenfergie
Summary: (but never had i thought i'd drag you down as well). he touches you softly, traces the pale veins on the bottom of your spine and it is like he is kissing you.


this is weird? and inspired by like a bunch things.  
a) the poem 'judas' by k. wright  
b) the song 'vessel' by dry the river  
c) title is 'we have it all' by pim stones

basically a very loose murphamy judas/jesus kind of thing. idk i like it and i thought of it on the way to work and had to get it out of my brain. sort of drabbly but that's how i write 100% of my fics. it also doesn't end too well. idk what this is.

enjoy. don't own shit.

* * *

if there is one thing you notice about Bellamy from the start, it's that he is love, incarnate. you watch his face as his sister shouts triumphantly into the wilderness, hands in the air, and all you can see is pure adoration. he looks at her like she is the only thing that matters.

he looks at Clarke like that, too. sometimes he'll clap Miller on the back with one of those wrinkly grins dripping off his mouth and you'll see that expression again. he loves all of you with such tenderness that you can barely breathe somedays. in the rain, screaming, _whatever the hell we want!_ he is telling the lot of you that he _loves_ you.

you break off that cuff for him.

he touches you softly, those few nights before he hangs you. traces the pale veins on the bottom of your spine and it is like he is kissing you (he does a fair share of that, too).

when they find your knife and he has to kick the box from under your legs, there is a pain in his eyes that you have never seen, not even in your mother when they floated your father. you fight dying because surviving is what you know, but you also cannot bear his face twisted like that before death.

you want to die for him in some blaze of glory, on the battlefield, in some flames. not like this.

the next time, when it is you on the other end, all you want is for him to break his neck on the way down so that you don't have to watch him struggle. it doesn't, and you blow a hole in the side of the drop ship because you are a coward and because you love him too much to finish the job. revenge was so sweet when you were drowning in your own blood, grounder knives slicing your forehead.

you vomit after you are far enough away, sobbing into your fists quietly.

at Camp Jaha you avoid him because there is no casual way to discuss both of your attempted murders. there is also the matter of your imprisonment, but that is solved fast enough and you sweep the medical bay and mess hall in late afternoons, Jaha watching your every move.

Bellamy finds you at a firepit late into the night, the coals shining. you're far too lazy to add more wood and make it blaze again. Bellamy sits next to you and pokes the pit with a discarded metal rod.

he's got a thick book in his grip and you raise an eyebrow at it, a silent question in the dark.

"the Bible," he explained, flipping through pages as thin as hair. "you read it?"

"parts. the detention centre library wasn't as stocked as the public one, and people always ripped the pages out of shit, anyway. I read what was there." he gives you a small smile and it is nowhere near the blinding force as usual, but it warms you. "what do you think?"

"what do I think of the book? or the religion?" Bellamy clarifies and you have to laugh to yourself.

"the book, Blake. I don't give a shit about religion."

"I'm guessing you weren't the one to water the tree when you were a kid, eh?" you nod and scoff at the idea. "I liked the New Testament more. Jesus and the twelve, all that.

"Jesus and Judas," you mutter to yourself. when you were younger, you read the bible at night in your crude bunk. you remember the kiss.

"you _would_ like that story," Bellamy shakes his head. you stare at each other for a few moments and you catalogue all of his freckles for the seventh time that day. it is too dark to see the small ones, but you know where they are, anyway.

"are you calling yourself Jesus?"

he laughs and looks up at the night sky. he is still laughing when he walks away, holy book in hand.

he is in your mouth hours later, the sun rising in through the flaps of his tent. it's too cold and his hands leave you burning. he comes on your tongue and you swallow him like he is the host in your mouth. kissing up his chest, you smirk when he smiles.

"amen," he whispers as the freezing morning wind whips across his face, pulling his hair every way. you laugh softly and settle in beside him. he traces the bottom of your spine like he knows the path of each vein by memory.

when you leave with Jaha, you look back at your camp for Bellamy. he has his arm around Raven, squeezing her tight as he smiles at another, engaging the crowd in conversation. you can see his love even from the treeline.

he does not see you go. you wander at the back of the group, wanting to return, wanting _him_.

* * *

 _(i kissed your cheek in front of them all_  
 _and in doing so, i think that i_  
 _damned the both of us. you,_  
 _to be left crucified and bleeding and_  
 _paying for my sins. me, to be left_  
 _wandering and wanting and_  
 _never to see your face again.)_


End file.
